Pawns on a Board: Book 1
by GBrowland
Summary: Men, by their very nature, are power-hungry. As is the case of the rival camps. Leadership is passed from person to person, but who will it ultimately fall to?


I DO NOT own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, nor do I own Heroes of Olympus. I am not Rick Riordan.

Percy

Percy Jackson had never enjoyed mornings, and he did not need Hera to remember that. It was damp, foggy, and dreary, and he found himself begging for just one more hour of solace in his cabin. Alas, there were things to be done.  
Careful not to wake his cabinmates, he hastily pulled on some soggy camp wear and trudged from his cabin into the night to resume his vigil. _This was never my idea_, he reflected bitterly, though it was, in truth. Ever since the end of the war against Gaea he had insisted on constant watch in, around, and above the camp. _And I volunteered_, he thought as he looked up to spot a pair of scouts on pegasi.  
He regretted sending his own pegasus, Blackjack, to a no-name horse farm out in the middle of who-knows-where, but that, too, was his choice. _Plenty of good my choices do me_. Blackjack was a lesson against disobedience to the other pegasi, if a tad harsh, and the camp needed some funding. They were offered a hefty sum, enough to start building several new cabins, but he still remembered the betrayed look in the pegasus's eyes when he was carted off.

His own choices landed him in his own troubles, Percy Jackson, savior of Olympus, knew, but that didn't mean he couldn't blame them on someone else. He blamed Chiron for dying in the defense of Fort Beauregard and leaving him to lead the rival camps. He blamed Zeus for banishing Percy's father, Posideon, to his realm for 5 years on grounds of disobedience, a slight to Percy and his cabinmates that he would surely make up for. And he blamed Gaea. He blamed Gaea most of all.

But blaming did Percy Jackson very little good, so he knew to keep vigilant, should either camp require leadership. Especially now, he knew. With Jason good and dead, smited by Hera in the final fight against the giants, he was as close to a leader as both camps, dark and depressing as they were, were like to get in the rebuilding period. When he wasn't leading, helping rebuild, keeping watch, or pleading to the gods (grudgingly) for good tidings, he was training. He spent so much time training and so little time doing whatever else that he was concerned for himself. When he got more than 5 hours of sleep of a night he counted himself lucky, less than that an ordinary day. His natural good looks (from his father, no doubt) were becoming sullied and pockmarked from training bouts, lack of sleep, and depression, and he hardly counted himself a hero as of late. _Does a hero have doubts that he's a hero?_

He stood watch at the border, a black figure against an even blacker night sky, and waited. And waited. And waited until he was sure he would fall from his perch and be done with his earthly sorrows and responsibilites. But that solace never came, and nothing came to disturb the border. As his watch ended, hours later, the sun was emerging from the rocky New York horizon and he heard the clatter of cabin doors opening and early risers chatting solemnly with one another. He spotted his rival, a Zeusling by the name of Aeryn, on his way to do god-knows-what, and he felt his brow furrowing in restrained anger.

Aeryn was a somewhat comely creature of 14 with disgustingly girlish blonde hair that stopped at his forehead and made curtains to frame his face. Percy didn't care to know how long he spent of a morning to fix his hair, nor did he want to. With Aeryn came a massive demigod, Gregory Crawford, a muscular Hephaestus child of 16. Percy figured Gregory was there to protect Aeryn should disaster strike, but Aeryn was well-liked by the campers. He had thought, more than once, that it was mostly because of his mother's money and place on the New York governance council. The part that so totally irked Percy was that Aeryn made no sign of disliking Percy.

He knew plenty of his friends were fooled by Aeryn and his lackey's money, but Percy knew not to trust the shaggy-haired demigod; he always had a sleazy, power-hungry sort of look in his blue eyes, and he was ultimately too likable. His lackey, Gregory, was all but the opposite: Massive, built like an aurochs, as skilled with a hammer as he was with a sword, he was a bully, the likes of which Percy knew far too well from his short time in public school. He was a far quicker fighter than Crawford, he knew that from more than one aggressive training bout, but he knew the child of Hephaestus could beat him with sheer strength if it came to that. Percy made sure to keep an eye on him as often as he could.

He chanced a glance at the Greek armada's early morning training sessions, in essence testing whether the massive fleet of ironclads would float or sink in the lake. Only a few had significant flying abilities, such as the Argo II, the fleet's flagship, and yet more were bound to the lake. The armada itself was a formidable force, and it was led by a formidable demigod, Percy knew; Viktor Botley was a son of Ares, quick to anger and even quicker to laugh. Viktor, about Percy's size and smaller than the average Ares demigod, was born and raised on a fishing ship and walked with the sort of swagger of somebody used to the rolling floor of a ship. Leo and Viktor had become fast friends, even before Viktor's sudden claiming. He was a strict, unbending enemy, a loyal, gracious friend, and he was one of the only campers who could best Percy in a fight. He was by no means burly, but he was a fierce foe nonetheless. His real strength, however, lied on a ship, as the Greek Iron Captain.

It was the normal sort of practice session, several ships firing greek fire cannisters at eachother, stunted so as to not cause unrepairable dents in the hulls or explode unseemly. He heard Viktor's rough voice booming over the waters and waking all those who weren't already up. A good captain needs a good battlefield voice, Percy knew.

As the breakfast bell rang, Percy sighed and relaxed, watching the sunrise before he left to eat. Minutes later, nobody came to relieve him, much to his surprise and annoyance.

All hopes of food left Percy's mind. Sighing to himself, he resumed his watch.

Eventually, he was relieved by a hastily-dressed camper who apologized profusely. Percy warned him, only semi-jokingly, not to let it happen again, and the guard stood at attention and blushed bright red.

Percy yawned on his way to the mess hall, grateful that he had at least been relieved. He knew full well that, as head camper, he was obliged to suffering through the ordinary and the mundane requirements for the welfare of the camps, even sitting through the Senate meetings at the Ampitheatre. He took his seat at the head of the council, next to Reyna and Piper. He assumed that he looked pretty horrible. Though, he surmised, he _felt_ pretty horrible as well.

Reyna cleared her throat at the uncomfortable silence that followed his arrival. Percy saw one senator lean to whisper something to his friend.

Piper spoke up to a kneeling Lar, "Well, er, what was your name again? Right, Meryn, we would LOVE to help rebuild your houses, make no mistake, but we have little enough funding as it is. You understand, right?" She smiled winningly, the way she always did, and the Lar made an awkward bow, sparing a semi-insolent glance for Percy as he left.

Reyna cleared her throat again. "Who's next?" When no one answered or came forward she signalled to Percy to adjourn.

As Percy lifted the gavel, another Lar, far more plump than Meryn, rushed forward, a rough-looking demigod with him, bound with leather thumb-ties. He glared up at the council. Percy heard muttering near and around him. He ignored them. "What can I do for you, friend?"

The Lar kicked the demigod's legs out from under him. "This demigod was sniffing around the border!" He glared at the demigod in question, who smirked up at Piper.

"Which side of the border, Lar?", came Piper's pleasant voice. The Lar hesitated before speaking. "Err.. the.. well, the wrong side, my lord. And ladies", he said, inclining his head to Reyna and Piper, Piper's a little lower. Reyna frowned.

Percy narrowed his eyes at the roughspun demigod. He _was_ a demigod, no doubt, else he couldn't have gotten through the border. He looked familiar, but... "A demigod, then? Who's your father?"

The demigod spat at the floor. A guard lifted his spear to drive the butt into his gut, Percy signalled him to stop, and the guard stepped back. Percy saw the bound demigod smirk the slightest bit. Enemy or no, Percy promised to himself that he'd regret that.

"Did you see that, boy? I could have let him break a rib or two, but I stopped him. Any more insolence from you and I swear I'll tell them not to hold back." The slightest bit of reproach, maybe even fear, shone in the captive's eyes. "Now, I will repeat my question.."

The demigod swallowed and answered before Percy could rephrase himself. "Hermes... sir." He had an unmistakable sense of dignity about him, as if expecting people to resent him because of his father.

Percy nodded. "Hermes. Me and Hermes are friends, did you know that? What if I were to tell him that you were sneaking on the wrong side of the border? Hermes has never quite been quick to anger, but answer me truthfully."

The now-kneeling demigod nodded and spoke, in a hoarse voice, "He'd.. He'd probably ask me why, s-sir." Percy nodded again.

"Well, why? And may I have your name, _friend_?", Percy said, with a smile that could me misinterpreted as mocking.

The demigod hesitated before answering. "Marc, sir. And, uhm, I was checking the defenses, in case of future attacks, sir."

"I'm expected to believe this? I've never laid eyes on you before now. The_ real_ reason,_ now."_

The demigod paled slightly and answered, considerably quicker than the last time. "I, was, erm, scouting." He almost shrunk back, yet gathered enough pride to stay still. "Scouting for.." He stopped. Percy beckoned him on impatiently.

The demigod looked at the floor. "For Gaea, milord."

For a moment Percy didn't know what to say. "Gaea... is sleeping, fool. I fought her minions myself." The captive looked up defiantly.

"Not all of us. There are many thousands of us, and we will not bend. If it pleases you, hang me or shorten me a head, but remember that you will not stop us. Milord." The last word was accented with a treacherous grin.

Percy masked most of his fury. "Guards. Escort him to the headsman's block, if you will." As they turned away, the prisoner with one last mocking smile, Percy let them walk for a few seconds before shouting out, "Hold."

He was on him, Riptide out, before the captive could blink. The flat of Riptide slammed into the demigod's temple and he fell to the ground, unconscious, before he could cry out.

Capping Riptide again, he nodded to the guards. "As you were." The guards, no doubt Aeryn's lackeys, looked at him incredulously before walking off.

As Percy returned to his seat, Reyna had a shocked expression on her face. "You should not have done that, praetor. The senators will speak of this, talking about how you let your fury take hold of you."

Percy glanced sidelong at her, lips in a tight line. "I did what was appropriate. He mocked me, _us, _to our faces. Completely called for, I'd say." Without Reyna telling him to, he took up the gavel and smacked the podium with it. "Council adjourned."


End file.
